


Of Stardust and Paper Wishes

by boats_birds



Series: KagaKuro Week 2015 [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Wishes, in which Kuroko wishes on shooting Kagami's, kagakuroweek2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4962394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boats_birds/pseuds/boats_birds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kuroko was fifteen, he didn’t believe in wishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Stardust and Paper Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Can be seen as a companion piece to my drabble [Of Kryptonite and Morning Kisses](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4179234/chapters/10365300). I ended up doing a very similar pattern, since they're similar prompts, but I wanted to do one for Kuroko instead. I want to wrap this child in a blanket of safety and happiness, but I think Kagami's pretty close to that, yeah? Anyways, I'm still catching up with the other prompts, so hopefully I'll be caught up soon~ For the prompt: Wishes.

When Kuroko was five, he made his first real wish.

His grandmother had taught him all about Tanabata, about the annual meeting of Milky Way lovers, about writing wishes down on paper in poetic prose, about putting trust in those wishes as he hung them on bamboo branches. Afterwards, his eyes lit up like stardust, and he dashed through their house, grabbing every scrap of paper he could find in every color, with pale blue as his most favorite. Then he’d write down in his most careful calligraphy, tongue poked out in concentration, his greatest desire. For a few years, it was material things: a variety of toys, a kitten named Shadow, and the happiness of his family.

But one day he sat down. And he thought about how the kids at school forgot him again, about how they wouldn’t play with him because they called him a ghost, and he decided to make a different kind of wish.

‘ _I wish someone would notice me.’_

He put all of his wishing power into his handwriting, slowly tracing the kanji as perfectly as he could, as if the key to proper wish-making was precision and neat strokes, and then handed it to his mother to hang on their tiny bamboo plant. All of his faith went into that tiny scrap of paper, a speck of blue light fluttering in the wind from their open window.

His grandmother read over it, then reached over and patted his head, warmly saying, “I’m sure it’ll come true.”

And it did.

With a boy named Ogiwara Shigehiro, a grin and an outstretched basketball, he found someone who noticed him, who even liked the way he could disappear, saying it was awesome, and he secretly thanked that little slip of blue paper.

 

* * *

 

When Kuroko was eight, he placed all his childish faith in a piece of paper.

Admittedly, even at this age, he knew it was a bit of a long shot. But he loved basketball _so much_ , that he wasn’t sure what else he could do. Ogiwara-kun was already so much taller than him, Kuroko barely meeting his shoulders, as was everyone else they played with. He didn’t have nearly the stamina they did either, always running out of breath and having to take breaks at the worst of times. He couldn’t make shots, could barely dribble, and his defense was terrible at best.

So one day in August he sat down. After drinking his third glass of milk because he heard calcium was good for bone growth, after having to call timeout in the middle of a play once again, he decided that a wish might be able to fix everything.

_‘I want to become a great basketball player.’_

He wrote out the small prose, humming under his breath, as he carved his wish in black ink on his still favorite pale blue paper. Again, he put all of his faith into that paper, believed in it the same way he believed in his mother’s magical healing lullabies and his father’s strong hands.

His grandmother paused at the paper floating on their bamboo, then reached over and ruffled his hair, soothingly saying, “You can do anything you wish.”

But he couldn’t.

With as much practice as he could manage, running drills until he was sick and falling over from exhaustion, he realized that sometimes people just weren’t meant to do things, and no amount of paper wishes could make him any taller.

 

* * *

 

When Kuroko was twelve, he wished as a last resort.

He’d already started losing his faith in those scraps of paper, seeing them as little more than fragments of desires that were better left unsaid. He fell further and further behind, no matter how he practiced, no matter how far he ran, no matter how much Aomine-kun told him that if he was trying that was good enough. He still loved basketball _so much_ , and deep in a part of his mind, he thought it just wasn’t fair. In the end, his name was never called to join one of the higher strings. It was only called when he was told that he should quit.

So once again, he sat down. After his eyes still burned from all the tears he shed on court, after his knees knocked against concrete and his head fell against the goal of everything he wanted, he decided, like Aomine said, to at least try.

_‘I want to join the team. **Please**.’_

His hands were shaking like he was a child again, as he wrote out the kanji in a script he didn’t even recognize as his own, and then hung it up when his family wasn’t looking. The last bit of his confidence went to that black ink on pale blue, the last light that he could rely on to guide him, though he knew it was silly to do.

His grandmother read it after he was already in bed, worn hands rubbing at the paper softly, quietly whispering, “Please. For him.”

And he did.

With a talent he didn’t know he had, with a phantom settling on his shoulders and doubt still churning in his stomach, he found his own unique place in the first string as a sixth man, a rainbow of people relying on him, and he thought maybe wishes weren’t so childish.

Though he soon learned after wishes didn’t always stay true, as that team he so desperately wanted to join fell apart right at his very fingertips, and he was left among the rubble.

 

* * *

 

When Kuroko was fifteen, he didn’t believe in wishes.

Instead, he believed in his own efforts, that sometimes people could do things they weren’t meant to if they tried hard enough, and a wildfire boy that exploded his world in light. All of his neat writing and careful bamboo wishes transferred to that blinding light, trusting that every pass would be returned and every dunk would follow with a grin. He gave those odd eyebrows and sharp scowl all of his faith, and never once did it fail to be returned. So he didn’t write down his wishes anymore, didn’t bother with pale blue paper, because those eternal buzzers and flashes of red ones didn’t keep him awake at night anymore.

And one day his grandmother sat down. She just sat with him, until her fragile, wise hand settled over his, making him feel like he was five again, and asked, “What do you wish for this year, Tetsuya?”

_“…I want our team to be number one in Japan.”_

As soon as he spoke the words, a part of him was afraid they’d fly away, until they were little more than dots of hope fading into the horizon. He twisted his blue piece of paper in his hands, worrying it until it was creased like his grandmother’s knuckles. But then he thought of dark red. He smiled and turned to correct himself, “I’m sorry, I meant we _will_ be number one in Japan.”

His grandmother hummed, then pulled him into a hug, proudly saying, “You’re right, you will be.”

And they were.

With a boy named Kagami Taiga, and a team that believed in him even when he didn’t believe in himself, they clawed their way to the very top of Japan, bellowed from the mountains victoriously, and all he could do was toss his arms around Kagami’s waist for all the words he couldn’t say.

 

* * *

 

When Kuroko was eighteen, he realized wishes could always come true.

As he walked around the Tanabata festival with Kagami at his side, he imagined that this was as close to a shooting star as he would ever get. They visited from booth to booth, Kagami tugging on his yukata and Kuroko grabbing his hand to make him stop, trailing among the bright decorations and crowds of people. Trying on different masks just to hear Kagami’s laugh, watching Kagami stuff his face before being teasingly offered a bite, and laughing as Kagami tore through yet another paper net trying to catch goldfish. It was a night that not even a wish would be able to grant, and he never wanted it to end.

Then he stopped by the bamboo trees. And he knew it didn’t make much difference, that wishes were really just a product of your own work, but the urge still welled up within him. He laced his arm through Kagami’s and led him over, even as the redhead asked in confusion, “What? Are you wanting to make a wish?”

Kuroko nodded, grabbing a slip of red paper and a pen from nearby, and neatly signing it with his greatest desire, just as his grandmother taught him when he was five. While it may have been childish, and he hadn’t done so in forever, he trusted in that dark red paper, put all of his wishing power into every stroke of kanji, because it was one wish he was determined to make come true. After he finished, he carefully hung it on a branch, standing back with Kagami to admire it.

Kagami glanced over the paper before his face flushed, snapping to Kuroko with a yell, “That one’s no good! Make a new wish!”

A smile danced on his lips. “But, Kagami-kun, that’s my most important wish. I need it to come true more than anything.”

He didn’t get to say much more than that, since Kagami smacked a hand over his mouth, red eyes frowning down at him. Kagami glanced around, making sure no one was nearby, and mumbled, “Quit being embarrassing for at least one night.”

But then he grabbed his own sheet of paper, scrawling his messy handwriting across the light blue surface before haphazardly hanging it up beside Kuroko’s. He barely let Kuroko have any time to read it, already tugging at his elbow and saying, “C’mon, the fireworks are going to start!”

Those words were still clear in Kuroko’s head, slowly etching themselves across his chest, even as they found a place by the river to watch, colorful lights exploding across the sky before bleeding into the dark. So really, it was Kagami’s own fault for making Kuroko’s face heat up to his ears, for Kuroko tangling their fingers together, and for Kuroko tugging him down into a light kiss. And it was worth it, even when Kagami’s jaw dropped before grabbing Kuroko in a headlock, hissing, “ _Not in public, idiot!”_

Across the festival hung two wishes of dark red and light blue, each reading, _‘I want to always be with Kagami-kun,’_ and, _‘Not want—you will be.’_


End file.
